The Emperor Protects
by Morwen Tindomerel
Summary: - But first He pitches you right into the Frak. Confessor Athaliah Cain tries to explain to her brother just how she came to be *Saint* Athaliah - with a dozen pious titles after her name. It's a long story.
1. Chapter 1

_Editorial Note:_

_Recently I discovered what seemed at first glance to be a second dataslate of Cain's memoirs. Imagine my shock when I discovered they were in fact the personal writings of the great evangelist and champion of the Emperor Saint Athaliah the Flame, Savior of Calixis, Bride of the Emperor and Mother of the Faithful, etc. It seems that the Saint, whose birth name was Athaliah Cain, was Ciaphas Cain's sister and only known relative! _

_At first I could hardly believe what I was reading, especially given that the Holy Saint was active nearly a century before Cain took up his first post with the 12__th__ Vahallan Artillery. Apparently Cain was equally confused when he and his sister were eventually reunited during the famous Astarte raid on the Port of Lost Souls. The dataslate I had found proved to contain, along with much other material, her Holiness's somewhat lengthy explanation of how she ended up in the Calixis sector back in 832.41M when she was ordained and assigned to the Orpheus diocese of the Jericho Sector in 918.41M._

_I have elected to footnote the Blessed Saint's accounts with Cain's own annotations as well as my own. I advise my readers to prepare themselves for some shocks. The Blessed Saint resembles her brother far more than one would believe possible._

_Amberley Vail, Ordo Xenos_


	2. Chapter 2

First of all, Cai, it is not my fault. It was not my idea. I never set out to become the biggest fraud and hypocrite who ever deceived the good and pious if none too bright subjects of the Emperor. In fact if it's anybody's fault it's _His!_

Given my druthers I'd have opted for life as the spoiled mistress of the ridiculously wealthy governor of a Pleasure Planet but unfortunately that's not one of the careers open to students of the Schola Progenium. Emperor alone knows why the assessors decided I was priest material – possibly they were on something that day *1. Still Preacher is pretty cushy work too, just spout off platitudes once a week in the pulpit and rake in the tithes. But apparently the Fathers at the Seminary got a hold of whatever the assessors had been imbibing because _they_ decided I was born to be a Confessor - possibly because I can talk the metal legs off a titan *2. Not that Confessor isn't a very nice job; you're pretty much free to write your own ticket with nobody but the local Cardinal – and of course the Ecclesiarch - over you, and they've got more important things than stray Confessors to worry about. Thus I embarked on my 'vocation' optimistically looking forward to a long career of preaching fire and brimstone on pleasure worlds and other civilized planets. I should have known better! *3

Unluckily for me my ordainment coincided with the restoration of the Hades Reach *4 – or at least a large chunk of it – to Imperial Rule. The brand new Cardinal of the Sector sent out a call for Confessors to restore the badly shaken faith of the surviving inhabitants and the Seminary Fathers made it very clear that saying no was not an option. This led directly to the first of the life threatening adventures that have punctuated my ecclesiastical career - through no fault of mine I assure you! - And to my special relationship with the deadliest and most obsessive chapters of the deadly and obsessive by definition Space Marines.

My party of seminarians was loaded back on the transport almost as soon as we landed on the Cardinal World of Eurydice. My intended destination was Emperor's Peace, a cemetery planet on the far side of a stellar dust cloud with the cheerful name of the Erebus Deeps. The world in question was thinly inhabited but full of graves in need of re-consecration making it an ideal first assignment for a novice Confessor, or so the Cardinal thought, I wouldn't know. I never got there. The last of my classmates got off at Zant Zofia and if I'd known more about the reputation of the Deeps I'd have been with them orders or no orders *5. As it was my first hint of danger was the shrill emergency klaxon that knocked me out of my dreams and almost out of my bunk. I dove into my vestments, grabbed a few important items and shoved them in my pockets as I ran all the way to my emergency station. Like most first time travelers in warp I'd been nervous and had studied the passenger safety manual with such dedication I can still recite whole swatches from memory decades later – not that it did me much good at the time.

Being, as afore mentioned, the last passenger on board I was all alone there by savior pod 9978 Deck K. I waited, heart thumping, for instructions. None came. After several minutes of being deafened by klaxons and blinded by strobing red lights irritation edged ahead of fear. What was going on here? I found a vox box and tried to raise somebody, anybody. At first all I got as I spun the dial was variations of static – and then a long, wavering, agonized scream. That was enough for me. I jumped into the pod, sealed it and launched.

I cut the thrusters and pivoted the little pod for a look at the transport – or rather at what was left of it. Everything aft of mid-ships, including the engines and control sections was just _gone. _It wasn't hard to guess what had happened, catastrophic ward failure, and I had no intention of trying to exorcise anything that could do _that._ I pivoted the pod in the opposite direction and hit the main rockets _hard _then watched the wreck and whatever it might harbor fuzz into the distance on the auspex, lost in a confusion of drifting ghosts.

Ask me why I don't like warp travel - but only if you're prepared for several hours of listening pleasure! On the other hand I have nothing against atmo or normal space and even back then I was a pretty fair pilot – certainly good enough to steer a savior pod wherever I wanted to go - thanks to lessons from a very good looking if somewhat clumsy Naval cadet I'd dated in seminary (he certainly wasn't clumsy after I was finished with him. In fact I think I can fairly say I turned him into a genuine gift to the female population of the Imperium, but I digress) *6. The trouble was there didn't seem to be anywhere to go. I was adrift in a sea of gravel like planetary debris stirred by strange currents that had the machine spirits of the auspex completely confused and basically useless.

I removed the most important of the items I'd grabbed before my precipitous departure and placed it on the control lectern. "Well," I said to it, "any inspirations?" My 'companion' a skull shaped reliquary of pure platinum and a size to fit in my hand looked back at me with glittering diamond eyes. Mercifully He didn't answer. "All right, what do you say we spin the nav-dial and head for wherever it settles?" the skull didn't disagree so that was what I did.

This was not good, not good at all. I was lost in a plodding savior pod with no planets in sight and no evidence of anything at all in range of my emergency beacon. On the plus side air and water were both recycled and so unlimited, and I had food – that is ration bars – to last five people a year and should last me at least quintuple that. So I wasn't looking at imminent death. I was sure I could handle the isolation, I quite like my own company, the trouble was I wasn't exactly alone and the sense of Somebody looking over my shoulder began to get seriously on my nerves.

After about ten days of it I finally snapped. "Stop staring at me!" I snarled with extreme disrespect at my skull shaped podmate then picked Him up and headed for the tiny flight deck to smack Him down on the brass control lectern with His occipital lobes to me. "There, do something useful, find us a place to… go…" my voice trailed off.

The lense shaped port was filled with a glittering vista of deceptively fragile looking crystalline spheres caught in an intricate filigree of ivory hued arches, buttresses and spiraling helices.

"Oh," I said after a long, blank moment. "I see. Fine. Thanks."

It wasn't fine of course. I knew an Eldar craftworld when I saw one, but it was marginally better than nothing and questioning His bounty seemed like a really bad idea, especially after my little outburst. As the Navy saying goes, 'Any old port in a warp storm'. I was still looking for a door knocker when the vox-box binged for attention.

"Savior pod 9978, please give your position." The voice was extraordinary deep and resonant with a clipped, military tone.

Puzzled, I'd thought the Eldar were fluty tenors or altos, I responded as best I could: "I think I'm forty or so klicks above your dorsal surface… directly over a big, green glowy bubble if that helps."

"Understood, we're launching a shuttle now. How many do you have aboard?"

"Just me." my voice began to shake, and the hand holding the mic, "My transport suffered a catastrophic ward failure. I think I'm the only one who got off alive." I'd been careful not to let those thoughts surface before, and now that they did….well it wasn't at all a pleasant feeling.

"Savior pod sighted," cut in a second voice, every bit as big and deep and the first. "Hang on, ma'am. We'll lock onto you in a moment."

I put the skull back in my pocket, collected my few other belongings and stood facing the hatch expectantly. The pod quivered as the shuttle knocked gently against it then I heard the sucking sound of air-seals adhering themselves to the ceramite plates. The outer hatch opened automatically as it sensed atmosphere on the other side and I hastened to open the inner door.

Brown eyes deep set in a massively boned face peered inquiringly at me, their owner clearly having to hunch over to look through the normal sized hatch. My jaw sagged. If this was an Eldar I was an Ogryn! The giant proceeded to explain himself:

"Battle-Brother Sabbatiel, Consecrators Third Company. Please come aboard ma'am."

I'd been rescued by Space Marines.

Brother Sabbatiel didn't say another word, Astartes are not usually chatty. I generally am but I was too busy trying to figure out what Space Marines were doing in this supposedly secure Sector. Shouldn't they be fighting demonspawn on the Forax Front or keeping the xenos in the Forbidden Zone? Had I run straight into worse trouble (worse than being lost in a savior pod? Hard to imagine…) On the plus side though if I wasn't safe with Space Marines I wasn't safe anywhere, which as it turned out I wasn't, though that realization lay well in the future.

I was somewhat distracted from these questions by the singular discomfort of my position. The seats were scaled for Space Marines meaning my feet dangled about a third of a meter above the deck, the safety webbing was far from secure and the roar of the engines would have made conversation impossible even if I'd been so inclined. Fortunately I only had to endure a few minutes of it. I was still wriggling around trying without success to find a more comfortable position when a slight fluctuation of the gravity field told me we'd landed.

Brother Sabbatiel helped me down the too high steps and I looked around an ovoid hold or hanger that was all soaring ivory tinted curves and full of the contrasting blocky black shapes of several thunderhawks each inscribed with a scarlet and white flame sigil.

"Brother, if I may ask what you are doing aboard a craftworld?" I said at last.

"We're castaways like you, ma'am," he explained. "Our ship was attacked by an Ork kill-kroozer. We got them but the_ Heritor_ was so badly damaged we had to abandon ship. The Emperor's hand guided us here."

"And what did the Eldar think of that?" I wondered.

He shrugged. "There weren't any left alive to ask." I jumped to a conclusion which he proved false in his next sentence: "She was dead in space when we found her. No remains, no trace of battle, everything left in place as if the Xenos just up and vanished one day."

Well wasn't that just wonderful! "Have you been here long?"

"Eight standard days, eleven hours," he answered with a precision I was to learn was typical of Astartes.

Then we stepped through a gold framed portal into a scene that effectively ended our conversation. Dead vegetation crunched underfoot and skeletal bushes marked long expired shrubberies. We were surrounded by fluted towers of that ubiquitous ivory-like material, like a forest of gigantic petrified trees, all wreathed with hanging staircases spiraling up to the luminous green dome far overhead. Then we turned a corner and a military encampment came into view, the first but far from the last I'd see. It was however unique in that work and eating areas were defined solely by furniture – most of it over-sized – tents being, of course redundant in an enclosed environment. The only exception was the canvas screens set up around the bunks and, I assumed, other personal necessities.

Gigantic battle-brothers in black power armor guarded the perimeter, warming my slightly paranoid and thoroughly cowardly heart. Within their circuit equally huge men went about their business clad in black robes and short shoulder capes signed with the same scarlet and white sigil as illuminated the armored brothers' right pauldron and a number of small, scuttling creatures too shrouded in black hooded robes to identify, some kind of specialized servitor? ….

One of the creatures attached itself to us as Brother Sabbatiel and I made our way through the camp taking up station at my heels. I tried to get a good look at it over my shoulder. No face, not even hands (or manipulators). Was there flesh and bone or metal under those robes at all? I told myself not to be silly. Space Marines, remember, no sorcery allowed. Which was fine by me, I'd had all the contact with demons and other warp denizens I ever wanted (If Only I'd Known!) *7

We finally arrived before a giant in ceramite looming intimidatingly over a poor, defenseless and not-quite-large-enough desk. Brother Sabbatiel saluted with a clang as his armored fist hit his breastplate: "Survivor from the pod, Father."

"Mother Athaliah Cain, Confessor of the Faith, in transit to Emperor's Peace," I elaborated, "What is happening here, Captain? This Sector is supposed to be secure!"

Both Marines looked at me like they doubted my sanity. "To begin with, Mother Confessor, Consecrators use the title company master rather than captain. You may prefer to address me as 'Father Octavian'." He paused to consider his words. "I am confused by your characterization of the Reach as secure. Our orders were to repel an Ork Waaargh from Shedu."

"Shedu?" I echoed blankly. I'd never heard of the place – but then the only planets I had heard of in this Sector were the Cardinal world and my assignment. But a Waaargh, how could I have missed that? "This must have blown up very suddenly," I said dubiously. "I trust the Cardinal has been warned?"

"Cardinal?" Father Octavian echoed.

Were we even having the same conversation? "Cardinal Vorthys of Eurydice, my immediate superior, I am on a mission personally assigned by him -" to re-consecrate a world full of graves, not quite as important as it sounded. I remembered the skull weighing down my pocket, except for Him.

Father Octavian and Brother Sabbatiel exchanged another look. "Surely the Ordo Xenos can't have cleared Eleusis of the Tyranid taint so soon."

"You mean Eurydice" I corrected becoming more and more confused, "and what Tyranids?"

"Actually I mean Eleusis," Father Octavian answered, his expression unreadable. "And I was referring to the Tyranids of Hive Behemoth."

"Nobody told me about any Tyranids!" I said a little shrilly. "Hades Sector is supposed to be _safe!_"

"No doubt it is, Mother." Father Octavians's booming voice was pitched lower in an attempt to be soothing. "We have been talking at cross purposes I fear. Our ship was lost in the Slinnar Drift, Jericho Reach."

'Slinnar Drift' meant nothing to me but I'd at least heard of the Jericho Reach, it was on the opposite side of the galaxy. "This is the Erebus Deep, Hades Sector," I told him.

"So I gather," he answered, apparently not recognizing the name, "which Segmentum?"

"Pacificus, on the western fringe," I answered. "How in the Emperor's Name did you get here?"

"With difficulty," was the evasive reply. "And what year is this, Mother?"

"918.M41," I answered promptly, then blinked. What kind of question was that?

My Space Marine escort and his superior exchanged grim looks – a truly frightening sight. Finally Sabbatiel sighed. "Brother Librarian will be pleased to be proven right."

Father shook his head. "No he won't, son. I don't think any of us will find a thing to be happy about in this." He turned back to me. "I apologize for the confusion, Mother Confessor. But you see it was 801M.41 when we found this -" he waved a gigantic ceramite paw vaguely around and finally settled on a suitable adjective; "place." Personally I'd have used a few stronger ones but, as I was to learn, Space Marines don't swear.

"Oh. That's… not good." I understated spectacularly.

…

Father Octavian outlined the situation to a collection of very big men in even bigger suits of power armor all painted a nice intimidating shade of black. They stood around his desk like so many looming cliffs of ceramite with me, huddled very small in my too large chair among them. Those assembled included his company Chaplain, Apothecary and Standard Bearer, a hooded Librarian, two Techmarines and a trio of senior sergeants. He finished and everybody looked at the Librarian.

"What? I didn't do it, you know, just pointed out the possibility."

"Possibility?" I asked. My voice was thin and piping as a child's compared to all these basses. "How did this happen?"

"We attempted to transit the webway, Mother Cain," he began.

"What else _could_ we do?" one of the Techmarines demanded gesturing with all three hands *9 "This Xeno planetoid is the closest thing to a warp capable ship we've got!"

"I'm not disagreeing," the Librarian answered his brother marine before turning back to me. "Unfortunately this section of the webway proved to be warp contaminated, presumable due to a rupture somewhere," he shrugged his pauldrons, "Resulting in temporal displacement, just as I feared."

"So," I said, "when we try again," I looked at Father Octavian. "We are going to try again?"

He nodded resignedly. "I don't see any alternative."

"Me neither," I agreed. "But we're like to end up another century or so in the future – right?"

"Or the past," the Librarian said, sounding indecently cheerful. Everybody glared at him, including me. He didn't seem to mind.

"Well," I said after a moment. "It's not like I've got any family waiting for me – and whenever we break out the Ecclesiarchy will still be there." *9

"And the Chapter," Father said meditatively. "Quite right, Mother, what is time to the Emperor's servants?"

…

It wasn't so bad I told myself a short time later, collapsing wearily onto the oversized cot the battle brothers had kindly set up for me behind its own array of privacy screens. Whenever we ended up I'd have a whole company of space marines to protect me and I had every intention of making sure that that was one of their main objectives. I am not expendable, thank you very much, and I have absolutely no aspirations martyrdom-wise *10

The little robed what-ever-it-was scuttled in with two buckets of water, one of them steaming, dangling from a pole over its shoulders, and its arms piled high with towels, etc.

"Um, thanks," I said. It bobbled a little by way of answer and whisked itself out of my enclosure. I looked after it for a moment once again trying to figure out just what was hidden under those robes; a Ratling maybe? An augmented Ratling? Then I went back to thinking about more important things – like my safety and security.

There is of course a very old, tried and true method for getting a man firmly on your side. The idea had some appeal, especially if Marines are in proportion... My mind wandered a bit at this point. Eventually I managed to pull it back on topic. On the other hand there are rumors that those particular parts are removed entirely when Astartes get geneseed (which by the way is true of some chapters but not of others as I later learned). I finally decided that intriguing as the idea was I didn't quite feel up to seducing one of the Emperor's chosen with Him literally looking over my shoulder. *11

…

I cleaned myself up with all dispatch, patted my pocket to make sure you-know-Who was still there, and emerged from behind my screens to find short, dark and enigmatic waiting. It tugged at my skirt through its floppy sleeve, still no hint of whether those were pinchers or hands under there, and trotted off hood swiveling to make sure I was following. It led me through the camp to where Father Octavian, his techmarines, his librarian and Brother Sabbatiel were waiting.

We followed a ramp that sprang up in the middle of the deck, spiraled around the towers for a few turns before diving into an equally twisty tunnel encrusted with lucent lumps that might have been colored glass or giant gemstones for all I could tell. Every now and again the walls opened up and we found ourselves traversing a gallery or bridge overlooking another huge domed and tower studded compartment like the one the camp was in. Eventually, after a dizzy climb up a spiral of many turns we emerged into what might at first glance seemed the open void – with a floor. A second look revealed an ovoid and highly polished deck reflecting the near total blackness pressing on the armorcrys dome.

"Breathtaking," I said upon getting mine back. "I don't see any controls?"

The techmarine nearest to me smiled a little grimly. "Neither did we at first," He pointed at a weird crystalline sculpture – or maybe growth – exploding in prismatic fronds from the deck and glittering in the light from the luminators on the Brothers' armor.

"You're kidding," I said, considerably taken aback.

He shook his head. My next question of course was exactly how a piece of eldritch Eldar art constituted a control system. It was answered before I vocalized it by Brother-Librarian. He took up a stance in front of the weird object and slowly raised his arms, glittering pseudopods responded, mirroring the motion. He swayed to the left like he was performing the first step of the Bends. *13

"You have _got_ to be kidding," I blurted, rather tactlessly.

Father Octavian turned his head to give me a wry grimace. "Unfortunately not, thanks be to the Lion, Brother Micaiel doesn't mind looking like a fool."

"I'm used to it," The Librarian responded as he performed a very passible _move arabesque_ *14 which can't have been easy in power armor.

I was distracted from the Librarian's dance – which took some doing let me tell you – by movement in the deck under my feet. Mad as it seemed his technique was clearly working. Slowly the mass the craftworld pivoted on its axis. Primal Night slid past the dome and slowly long tear in the very fabric of space came into view radiating a sickly greenish light.

I swallowed hard. "Is that it?"

Father Octavian nodded, "The web gate."

"I didn't think they came that large," I managed. It was hard to imagine a less inviting portal. Suddenly the idea of spending the rest of my life aboard a dead Eldar Craftworld held positive appeal.

"Usually they don't." my friend the Techmarine volunteered. "In fact gates large enough allow access by a standard cruiser are rare. As far as I know this one is quite unprecedented."

"Indeed," Father Octavian agreed. "I find myself wondering if the Slinnar Drift – and this Cloud - are entirely natural formations." He spoke into his helmet mike; "Ready down there?"

"Ready, Father Master," another booming bass responded.

Our pivot completed we started forward, gradually gaining speed. "Here we go," said the Librarian completely unnecessarily as the long nose of our craft penetrated the tear, shortly afterwards followed by the rest of us.

….

NOTES:

1. _C. Cain_: I agree. 'Thal was as unlikely an Emperor-botherer as – well – I was. Then again they made me a Commissar….

2. _C. Cain_: I can only conclude that not only does the Emperor have a sick sense of humor but he's got something personal against the Cain family.

3. _C. Cain_: I'll attest to that!

4. _A. Vail:_ Hades Sector is located in the rimward edge of Segmentum Pacificus and was brought into the Imperium by St. Macharius. When the newly conquered sectors fell into confusion upon his death one Colonel Anston Kirikus of the 89th Barac Pioneers turned Hades into his personal domain. His descendants managed to hold on to his ill-gotten power until Marcharius IX Kirikus had the bad judgment to ally himself with xenos from the Halo Zone and launch a war of conquest against the Segmentum proper. Needless to say his pretensions were decisively crushed and his allies exterminated.

5. _C. Cain_: If I had a credit for every time I've had that same thought….

6. _A. Vail_: While members of the ecclesiarchy are not bound to celibacy seminarians are forbidden intimate relations – a rule which seems to have caused the good Saint no inconvenience whatsoever. And since no trace of such activities can be found in her seminary record I can only assume she shared her brother's knack for not getting caught.

7_. C. Cain_: Personally I always felt it was just as well – for the sake of my at least temporary peace of mind – that I didn't know what the Emperor, and his sick sense of humor, had in store for me next.

8_. C. Cain_: I'm assuming the third was on a mech-arm like Drumon's.

9_. C. Cain_: Thank you very much, sister dear! Still…it's not like we ever expected to see each other again after they split us up as kids. It's a big galaxy

10_. A. Vail_: Considering that St. Athaliah is the only martyr on record to have died three times for the Emperor this is rather amusing.

11. _C. Cain_: hard to believe but Thal has actually managed to shock me. And that takes some doing.

12. _A. Vail_: She's shocked me too. And I didn't think that was possible!

13. _A. Vail_: A popular dance of the early 900s

14_. A. Vail:_ A classical dance step involving standing on one leg at full extension. A Space marine performing such in full armor is indeed a mental picture to boggle the imagination.


	3. Chapter 3

Traveling by webway, in case you're interested, is like tobogganing through the convoluted, greenly glowing alimentary canal of some galaxy devouring horror – in short not at all my idea of fun. We banked a turn and I found myself sliding across the mirror smooth deck. The Ratling sized whatever-it-was that had attached itself to me now did so literally, steering us into the wall next to a support beam where I wedged myself in as securely as I could.

The greenish light turned the uncovered faces of the Battle-Brothers a sickly color that probably did not reflect their interior condition but my insides were certainly acting up. Our unwieldy craft slalomed through endless, immaterial tunnels. Every now and then I caught a glimpse of something that might have been a ship or even a building but it never lasted long enough to be identified – not that anything in here could be anything but hostile.

Brother Mikaiel somehow kept his feet and kept right on dancing so I assumed we were under control. I just hoped he had some idea of where we were going. The other Space Marines stood solid as the black marble statues of the Primarchs lining the great hall of the seminary keeping their footing either through gene-seed enhanced balance or the gyro-systems of their armor or some combination thereof.

Abruptly the ambient light changed from pale green to the dull gray of a rainy day and we hit something so hard we bounced. The first impact was too much even for Space Marine balance. We all tumbled forward landing in a heap, fortunately for me I was on top so while badly banged and bruised at least I wasn't crushed under a wall of ceramite. Our vessel once again became temporarily airborne before crashing down even harder. Its stressed, ivory-like material creaked dangerously as what came down went up again only to strike the surface a third time and the wraithbone gave way, the crunch almost drowned out by a high volume chorus of shrill, ululating wails *1. Then we skidded for what felt like a few thousand klicks before grinding to a halt with a final jolt much milder than what had gone before.

There was a very long silence as everybody assessed their personal damages and got their breaths back. Finally Father Octavian's voice came from somewhere near the bottom of the heap. "What did we hit, Mikaiel?"

"A planet I'm afraid," the Librarian responded his voice muffled by the bodies piled on top of him.

There was a shorter but highly charged silence. I can't speak for the others but my personal thoughts were unprintable.

"That was careless of you," Father Octavian said with a composure that did him infinite credit.

"Yes, quite, sorry, Father Master. But you must admit a portal of this size in conjunction with a planetary surface is quite rare," the Librarian said sounding genuinely apologetic for the first time in my acquaintance with him.

Father Master sighed. "Tempting as it is we can't lie here all day." – Or night or whatever it was out there - "Brother-Sergeant Eleazar do you read? What is your status?"

"A few dents and bruises but otherwise battle-ready," the answering bass struck me as sounding downright hopeful, "Anybody to fight?"

"Patience, Brother. I'm sure an enemy will turn up in due course," Father Octavian answered calmly then continued in exactly the same even tone; "Now if you would all be so good as to get off of me -"

That wasn't as easy as it might have been since the slippery, mirror polished deck was now tilted at a forty degree angle. When we did finally sort ourselves out we saw that the crystal substance of the dome over our heads was crazed with cracks like ancient stained glass. Trying to retrace our route to the encampment – or even reach the opening to the ramp - was clearly out of the question. Father Octavian settled the question of how we were to get out of our little bubble with a single punch that brought the dome down in a rain of fist sized hunks clanking on the ceramite plating of the two armored brothers sheltering me.

We were now able to see the full difficulty of our position. Our unstable platform though at severe list was still some twenty or thirty meters above the wreckage of the craftworld held, barely, a few remaining buttresses. The long pointed prow of the craftworld had buried itself under a small mountain of gently steaming blackened earth.

Father Octavian eyed the gulf between our platform and the slope of the newborn mountain, "Looks like we'll have to jump for it."

"Frak that!" I blurted understandably forgetting to watch my language.

He turned towards me, "Don't worry, Mother Caine, it will be quite safe."

'Safe' – as I was rapidly learning – is a very different concept to a Space Marine or than it is to a normal person, much less a rampant coward like myself. The plan was for Brother Sabbatiel to pitch me like a scumball to a Brother Marine on the mountainside. I was far from happy at the prospect but it wasn't like I had any choice.

I have to admit it worked. Granted the impact of the catch jarred every bone in my body and left me wheezing desperately for air. My catcher, one of the Techmarines, carried me down to level ground. The mountainside was radiating enough heat to instantly soak my robes in sweat and I'd have burned my feet off if he'd set me on them.

When he finally did put me down I spent several seconds simply gulping the blessedly cool – or at least cooler – air before taking note of my surroundings. The craftsworld was lying cracked into large pieces half buried in the blackened earth with a glassy trail of heat fused sand and rock stretching to the horizon behind it littered with white bits of wraithbone. The ground I was standing on was fine black sand relieved only by an occasional outcropping of crumbling black rock. The air was breathable but a fine dust was falling down like an impalpable rain.

I pulled up my cowl and wrapped my stole around my nose and mouth as a filter then turned to Brother Sabbatiel walking beside me, his stride carefully curtailed to keep pace; "Did we do all this?"

He held out a black gauntlet to catch a handful of the falling powder. "I believe we can claim responsibility for the dustfall, Mother, but this planet was dead before we hit it."

"That's good," I said fatuously – well I'd had a hard day! – "We don't want any trouble with the locals.

"There may be no locals to have trouble with," he answered. And wasn't that a cheery thought!

We slogged across the black sand towards the circle of thunderhawks almost invisible against it except for their white and red flame icons. Inside the ring the camp was going up again in a brisk fashion, this time with tents. A diminutive black robed figure came flapping towards me and I blinked.

"You again?" thinking about it I couldn't remember seeing whatever-it-was since it'd steered me towards a convenient hand hold at the beginning of our mad ride through the webway. "Where'd you come from?"

"Nobody really knows the answer to that, Mother," the Brother Sabbatiel said. "But the Watcher here seems to have attached itself to you."

"Is that a good thing?" I asked dubiously.

"Opinion is divided on that point," he admitted with the most curious expression on his face, "The Watchers-in-the-Dark do as they see fit. If one decides to take up with you there's no use arguing with it." My new satellite underlined that statement by tugging insistently at my skirts. "Best go with it, Mother."

There didn't seem to be any good reason not to, and I was glad I did when we got where we were going; a black tent with the Consecrator's sigil and inside a cot, a clean if vastly oversized robe, and best of all a steaming bath also sized for a Space Marine meaning it was luxuriously large for me.

"Watcher," I said reverently taking it all in. "I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship."

A nice long bath was followed by a nap. I was surrounded by Space Marines, let them do the worrying! I was awakened, I don't know how much later, by the roar of engines overhead. I hastily wrapped the spacious black robe around myself and hurried outside.

My tent flap opened onto a clear space in the middle of the camp Father Octavian was there, flanked by Brother Mikaiel and his Banner bearer, all looking up so of course I did too. A thunderhawk circled overhead the light filtering through the permanent overcast glittering on its orichalcum plating. *2 A white shield emblazoned with a red raptor head had been painted on its tail vane, more Space Marines? Well at least we weren't stranded on a lifeless rock.

"Sorry, Father Master, I haven't a clue," Brother Mikaiel was saying as I joined the group.

Father Octavian looked down at me. "Do you by any chance recognize the heraldry, Mother?"

I stared up at him perfectly astonished. "Me? No! You mean you don't?"

He smiled faintly. "There are over a thousand Astarte Chapters, Mother, only a cogitator can remember them all." I had to admit he had a good point there.

The strange thunderhawk finished circling and a cloud of dust rising above the tops of our own gunships indicated it had landed. I trailed along as Father Octavian, Mikaiel and the Banner bearer made their way between the tents and a gap in the circle of our own thunderhawks to emerge on the side facing the strange gunship were we found a squad of Consecrators drawn up in battle order, weapons at the ready, their sergeant literally teetering on his ceramite boots in his eagerness to charge the newcomer.

"Down, Eleazar," said Father Octavian.

The beaky black helmet swiveled toward his superior somehow managing to convey the disappointed battle-lust behind its expressionlessness. "They could be Chaos Marines," the sergeant said with an unmistakable note of hope in his sepulchral tones.

"They could," Father agreed, "but let's find out for certain before doing anything irrevocable. Stand down Sergeant."

I didn't think power armor pauldrons _could_ slump. But somehow Sergeant Eleazar's did. "You heard Father, Brothers, stand down."

The line of Space Marines snapped too, holstered weapons and fell into parade rest in the perfectly synchronized unison one sees in servitors acting on the same command.

I looked nervously at the strange thunderhawk, just glittering there giving no sign of life. "Why don't they do something?"

"We've intruded on their space in an Eldar Craftworld," Father answered (I didn't know it then but Space Marines are seriously territorial). "Our heraldry is probably as unfamiliar to them as theirs is to us." He handed his helmet to the Banner bearer, taking the company standard from him in return. "It is for us to make the first move." Turning he marched towards the strange thunderhawk, bareheaded with his left hand held well away from his weapons and the banner in his right.

When Father Octavian reached the midway mark a brazen hatch opened and a massive figure glittering in in armor the same color as the thunderhawk emerged, a white cloak fluttering behind him, and advanced to meet the Company Master. Their deep, booming voices were clearly audible even to somebody without gene-seed enhancement like me.

Father Octavian said: "Greetings, Brother. I am Company Master Octavian of the Consecrators Chapter. My Company and I appeal to our brethren for aid in our distress."

After a perceptible pause that had Sergeant Eleazar quivering in hopeful excitement the other Marine answered: "Welcome, Brother. I am Captain Ashara of the Phoenix Brethren Chapter. How may we be of service?"

And so the camp had to come down again, for the second time in twenty-four standards but nobody seemed to mind. The Marines clearly shared my relief that we weren't stranded on some lifeless rock with no way off.

I reentered my tent to find Watcher standing in contemplation before the glittering cranium that was my unwanted companion and charge. Its head swiveled towards me and I read both astonishment and inquiry in the movement.

"Yeah, I know," I answered, sitting down on the cot. "Emperor's Peace was desecrated by the xenos. His Beatitude thought it needed something special to re-sanctify it so he gave me _Him_. And here we all are, Emperor only knows how many light years and temporal years away from the whole Hades diocese…" my voice trailed off as an unwelcome thought intruded. "Watcher, you don't think that _He_ – I mean this couldn't all be according to some plan of _His_?" Oh no. Please no. The _last_ thing a hypocrite like me needed was the personal attention of Him on Earth! *3

Watcher flapped his sleeves in a broad don't-ask-me gesture. "Yeah," I sighed. "How should you know?" I put his Divine Majesty back in my pocket. "Come on, Watcher, we're moving – again!"

….

Notes:

_A. Vail.: _That would have been the released Eldar souls being sucked into the warp and the arms of Slaanesh.

_A. Vail:_ The rain of dust had presumably ceased sometime before this though, much like her brother, Saint Athaliah doesn't bother to mention the fact.

_C._ _Cain_: A truly horrible thought, and one that has occasionally occurred to me.


End file.
